“Why do I have to leave your mother out of every conversation?”
“Because the very thought of her sucks every drop of happiness out of my heart. Is that reason enough?”
For a long time, he looked at her, scrutinizing her expression. She didn’t flinch. Let him see that she meant that, and maybe it would be enough to drop the topic of Ona Zatarain, once and for all.
“You should give her a chance.”
Or not. She pushed up, hard and fast. “You should give marriage a chance.”
“With you?”
She gasped, swinging around to face him. “Holy hell, is that why you’re acting so strangely? You think I want to…” Embarrassment burned her cheeks. “I want sex, Nick. Just a good old-fashioned deflowering. Nothing more. You’re the one who keeps trying to load it down with some kind of significance.”
He pulled her back down next to him. “I want you to be happy.”
“Then let’s stop all this chattering and forget your six stages of foreplay and…” She leaned over him and kissed him, dragging her hand back down to his crotch, which clearly hadn’t gotten the message that they were arguing.
He agreed silently, intensifying the kiss and slowly sliding his hands over her back and ass, pulling her hips against his. “Willow,” he whispered into the kiss. “I don’t want you to hate me.”
She closed her eyes and let those words slide over her, as warm and welcome as his touch. Did he really think she’d hate him because he didn’t believe in marriage and probably wouldn’t ever commit to a woman? Did he really think the loss of her virginity meant that much?
“You’re sweet,” she said. “And I could never hate you.”
“But you will.” He sounded so damn sure. “When…this is…over.”
When this is over.
Well, at least she knew exactly what she was getting into and that this was a fling. She tried to be comforted by that knowledge, to let her body take over at this point, to think about nothing except the way his large, strong hands felt as he caressed her backside and dug into the fabric of her dress, inching it higher and higher.
But way in the back of her mind, she wished Christina was right, and that he was a man who wouldn’t settle for less than perfect…and not a man who would run fast and hard when things got serious.
Because, deep inside, she knew this wasn’t just sex.
Except, he was already thinking about…when this is over.
* * *
Nick knew Willow would hate him. She would despise him for staying silent. She would scream at him when she found out he’d known her parents’ plan. He was playing with emotional fire, and he himself was the kindling.
Damn it. His body betrayed him by not caring a bit about that. His dick slammed against his pants, engorged with need, and his hands found their way right under her dress and up her thighs. Sweet, smooth, silky thighs that he wanted wrapped around him until he screamed for mercy.
Would taking her virginity make the whole explosion that much deadlier when the time came? Because there would be an explosion, he had no doubt.
“Stop thinking,” she demanded with a laugh.
“How do you know I’m thinking?”
“Your hands go still.” She kissed his neck and put her mouth over his ear. “Considering how difficult it must have been to write some of those pages and, really, how good they are, you’ve earned—we’ve earned—another step on the pleasure ladder.”
He laughed. “The pleasure ladder?”
She gave him the eye. “You’re one to talk, Mr. Pit of Despair.”
“That was pretty bad,” he agreed.
“But this…” She put her hand over his and guided him up her thigh. “Is so, so good.”
How could he fight this? Which made him more of a complete shit? Denying what she wanted—hell, what they both wanted—on principle because he was keeping something from her? Or letting this go its natural course and then letting her find out what he’d done?
So who has more at stake? A young man trying to get laid with the least amount of white water before he ships off to his next assignment and has nothing but a memory of a nice month on the beach, or a family that desperately needs and wants old heartaches to disappear?
“You’re thinking again.”
“Sorry.”
“Don’t be, just…touch me.” She led his hand between her legs. “I want you to touch me.”
And he wanted to. Every single burning, frying, electrified cell in his body wanted to. He stroked her thigh, making her sigh and moan. “You like that,” he whispered.
“Stating the obvious.”
“I like it, too.” He let his fingers go higher, reaching a silky, lacy, tiny piece of lingerie that barely covered her. Kissing her, sucking her tongue into his mouth, he stroked the wet silk.
“Isn’t it your turn?” she asked, reaching down to grip his erection again. “I want to give you pleasure, Nick.” She started to push down, kissing his chest, trying to turn so she could get her head lower.
He couldn’t let her do that. He couldn’t let her put him in her mouth when he’d just gone against everything she wanted and now he had this secret.
“No, not yet. Not…that,” he said. She looked disappointed, and it twisted his heart. “This is still for you.”
“Why do you get to make all the rules?”
He shushed her with a kiss and another stroke of her panties then easily slid inside to touch her soft, wet center. “Because I can do this to you.”
She gasped, shuddering against him. “Oh, yes, you can.”
“And this.” He stroked a circle, gratified by her response. “And this.” As her hands dug into his shoulders, he slid one of his fingers into her.
“Yes, that.”
She was so tight, he moved carefully and slowly, but with every stroke, she rocked harder against him, each breath tangled and tight, the sweet smell of her sex intoxicating him. It was like he lit a match, and she sparked fast and furious, clinging to him.
“I want you inside me,” she murmured.
“I am inside you.”
“Not the right part.”
He slipped another finger into her. “How’s that?”
She inhaled sharply. “A tease, but divine.”
“I’m not teasing you, Willow.” He rubbed lightly, then found the place that made her throat catch, and took advantage of the knowledge that gave him. He intensified the pressure and pace and then started kissing her again, cupping her breast with his other hand. That was all it took, making her let out a soft whimper, then a cry, then a low, long moan of surrender.
He knew better than to think—and risk slowing his fingers. Instead, he let himself feel everything, every sweet, sexy, sensual second of intimacy, holding her while she shattered with an orgasm brought on by only his touch.
Damn, sex with her was going to be amazing.
Followed by…her finding out that he was a lying, secret-keeping douchebag.
She would hate him. She would hate him.
The words echoed with the same rhythm as her panting breaths, finally slowing to something resembling normal.
“Nick?”
“Yeah?”
“I’m sorry we had that little argument.” She stroked his face, her eyes still partially closed, as if it took too much effort to open them all the way.
“It’s okay.”
“I didn’t mean to jump down your throat about my mother.”
He inched back. “I thought you wanted no mention of her, especially here in bed.”
Her fingers rested on his cheek. “Please understand that the only way I can deal with the future is by knowing I am completely finished with the past, and that means her.”
But she wasn’t finished. He could see it in her eyes. There was so much unfinished business and pain. And if his job—the one he’d taken on—was to give her pleasure, then didn’t that include the kind of pleasure she’d get when she finally resolved her issues
and got to know her new, changed mother who, in some weird way, had actually had a personality transplant?
If he told her, she’d find an excuse not to be here. He knew that, as well as her father did.
If he didn’t tell her, she would hate him. He would lose any chance he had with her.
He knew what he had to do. It was a no-brainer. He had to make a decision that would hurt him, but heal her. He had to make an unselfish decision this time.
Chapter Twenty-four
Willow rounded the harbor, crossing the street and jogging back toward her house with a strong, steady pace that matched the hard-rock selections she’d found on a Pandora station she loved for running. Sweat dribbled down her back, and her thighs burned for the last two miles, but she didn’t care.
She hadn’t run for days. She hadn’t done much of anything for a week and a half, except think about Nick, be with Nick, laugh with Nick, revise scenes with Nick, and find ever-more-innovative ways to give each other pleasure without…
It had to be soon. Somehow, they’d reached the agreement that “it” would happen when he finished the book. And since she hadn’t heard a word from him in two days, she had a sense that he was nearly at that point.
A familiar bass line started up the next song, and she could practically see the look of pain on Graham Senate’s face when he closed his eyes and played the chord, getting the expected scream from the crowd for Z-Train’s Will Ya, Will Ya.
She’d never hear the song again and not think of walking in on Nick, bare naked and belting out the worst version she’d ever heard. How far they’d come in these weeks since then. A warm, comfortable sensation filled her chest as she slowed her pace a little to hit the rhythm of Michael Brooker’s incredible drumbeat. She should tell Nick that “Uncle Mike” was her godfather. He’d love that.
And then Donny Z’s voice filled her ears with the low, long intro that got the song rocking. He played the part of a sex-crazy rock ’n’ roller so well, but Willow would bet everything she had and more that not once in their entire marriage had Donny Z even thought about cheating on his wife. How many rock stars could say that? In all those years. Thirty years. This month, she realized. Holy heck, in a week.
She didn’t hear her own voice softly singing the song, her father’s throaty, world-famous voice screaming in her ears.
She couldn’t help belting out the first stanza. “Gotta know if it’s real, gotta know if it’s forevah.”
“No foolin’ around, for worse or for bettah!” One strong arm wrapped around her from the back, making her stumble and yelp as someone pulled out one earbud and sang the next line right in her ear.
“Nick!” She half-laughed, half-shrieked as he turned her around and held her steady. And she needed that help, because every time she saw him, she felt a little bit weaker.
“You’re singing our song, baby.” He punctuated that with a kiss that lasted a few seconds too long.
“How’d you find me?”
“Gussie told me she saw you leave for a run, and I know your route.” He swiped some hair off her face. “God, you’re freaking hot when you sweat.”
She laughed softly. “What are you doing up so early?”
“Look at this face.” He pointed to his eyes. As if she needed the suggestion. She could look at his face for days. Months. More. “I haven’t slept yet.”
“Not at all?”
He gave her a slow, easy grin and tugged her a little closer. “But guess what I wrote?”
She knew. A tingling of warm expectation worked its way through her. “Tell me.”
“The two prettiest words in the English language.” He leaned closer to the ear without a bud in it. “The end.”
She leaned back, her mouth agape. “You did? How did it end?”
He swallowed visibly. “Badly. But only for me. I hope that means the book’s good.”
“Oh, Nick.” She reached up to cup his whisker-rough face in her hands. “Was it hard to write?”
“It was cathartic. And I have to thank you, Willow. You forced me to face some demons in the past, and in the process, I learned a few things.”
“Like?”
“Like sometimes a decision changes the course of your life, but you can’t spend the rest of it wallowing in regret. Writing about it, about how it all happened and why, that helped a lot.”
She stroked his cheek. “That’s good, Nick.”
He closed his eyes and pulled her closer. “You know what ‘the end’ also means, don’t you?”
Chills exploded down the nape of her neck. “And that means…”
He put the earbud in his right ear. “My heart’s right here…” Her father was singing the bridge notes. “Saved just for you.”
Nick put his mouth right over hers without kissing to sing, “So say yes, woman, that’s all you gotta do.”
Willow practically melted into the street, despite how horrifically off-key he was. “I really ought to get you to meet my dad someday. You’re such a fan.”
She could have sworn Nick froze at the suggestion. Probably from sheer excitement. She really should bite the bullet and see her dad. She could introduce them. The thought made her even dizzier, and by Nick’s expression, he felt the same.
“Does it mean that much to you to meet him?” she asked, a little amused and even in awe.
He didn’t answer as if the idea actually rendered him speechless.
She just laughed, but he surprised her by moving them along at a faster pace.
“What’s your hurry?” she asked.
He gave her a get real look. “We have stuff to do, Willow.”
She smiled. “Stuff? That’s what you call it?”
“A lot of stuff. You have to read and critique the end. I’m not sure about it, you know? I…told the truth.” His voice nearly cracked, and so did something in her chest at how hard that must have been for him. “And then I have to get things ready for us,” he added quickly.
She elbowed him. “What’s to get ready? Roses on the bed? Candles in the room? How epic do you want this deflowering to be?”
“Epic,” he replied. “What’s your schedule today?”
“Light on my end, but Gussie and Ari have a lot to do for Misty’s wedding next weekend. You didn’t forget about that, did you?” she asked with a laugh. “It was the reason you’re here.”
He closed his eyes as if the very idea pained him. “I did not forget.”
“When’s Misty getting in? Has she told you?”
“Sometime in the next few days.” As they reached the driveway of her house, he slowed his step and gave her a long, serious look. Maybe too serious.
“What is it?” she asked.
“Willow, about the wedding…” He looked away, clearly gathering his thoughts.
“Don’t worry, Nick. I know it’s the last thing on your mind, and I’ll never tell Misty how much you didn’t do. We had enough instructions to pull this thing off. Honestly, it’s such a small affair, and she seems to care so little about the details…” That wasn’t what was bothering him. Because whether or not they had lace napkins or the right wedding favors wouldn’t put that look of—pain? worry?—something dark in his eyes. “What’s the matter, Nick?”
He took her hands, one in each of his, and pulled her closer. “Maybe we should wait for, you know, until after the wedding.”
Wait? She bit her lip, mostly to keep from screaming.
“I want to be sure that everything is right, the timing, the place, and, well, us.”
She wasn’t sure what that had to do with the wedding, or what needed to be any “righter” about them. Every time they touched and kissed, one or both of them exploded. In fact, she may be a virgin, but she wasn’t dumb. Not having sex would be strange at this point, considering how intimate they’d been.
“If we waited,” he continued, “then you could be sure it’s me you want.”
What else did she need to say or do for him to know? “Nick, I am sure.”
“You might change your mind, and then you’d have lost your virginity to me and—”
She clamped a hand over his mouth and got very close to him, narrowing her eyes in a pretend warning. “If you turn me down again, Nick Hershey, after all we’ve been through, you will break my heart into a million pieces. You don’t want to break my heart, do you?”
He kissed her fingertips. “That’s just it. I don’t want to, and I’m afraid I will.”
She searched his face, trying to figure that out. Why did he think that having sex would break her heart?
Because he assumed she’d want…more. And this was the guy who was willing to not ever get married in case he ended up in a loveless union like his parents.
“From the beginning, Nick, I’ve told you that I wanted to lose my virginity. And I want to lose it with you. I’m not asking for anything more.” More would be nice…but she wasn’t going to give up sex with him to get “more” in writing.
“I know, I know, but you deserve…better.” His voice hitched a little, nearly undoing her.
“There is no better,” she said softly, lifting up on her toes to kiss him. “And let me make you this promise.”
He looked at her expectantly and unsure. “What?”
“I promise that no matter what happens, no matter how we feel afterward, or what the future holds or doesn’t, I will not blame any unhappiness on you. You’ve been amazing, carrying me through each step like you really, truly cared about me—”
“I do.”
She put her finger on his lips. “I know. You’ve proven that. So no matter what happens, I will know that everything you’ve done is because you care about me.”
“That’s so true, Willow.” He sounded desperately sincere, and it touched her.
“Then don’t worry. I couldn’t give my virginity to a more special man, and I couldn’t be happier.” She stepped back and held out her hand. “Now give it to me.”
“What?”
“The thumb drive with the rest of your book.”
He laughed, shaking his head. “How do you know I have it?”
“Please. I know you. Give.”
He reached into his pocket and took out the tiny drive and put it in her palm, closing his much larger hand around hers. “You really promise that, Willow? No matter what happens, you know that every single thing I’ve done or, for that matter, not done, is because I really care about you. You promise to believe that?”
Barefoot in White (Barefoot Bay Brides) Page 21
